


(i have been waiting for these visitors)

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Dreamscapes, Gen, M/M, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Smoking, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, kobra’s there real briefly at the end and the funpoison is background, this was just fun. i had a good time writing it, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Party Poison meets the Phoenix Witch, and doesn’t.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Party Poison & The Phoenix Witch
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	(i have been waiting for these visitors)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Ghost_Called_Boo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Ghost_Called_Boo/gifts).



> this is loosely based on maxx/a_ghost_called_boo @dead-silxnce’s hc on tumblr regarding the phoenix witch’s appearance! i thought it was super fun and it gave me a chance to get out of my head and do something new which was really fun
> 
> completely unbeta’d i just kinda threw this together, fast and loose
> 
> title from the visitors by abba
> 
> here’s the post i based this off of: https://dead-silxnce.tumblr.com/post/632618044298018816

It’s dark. Stars twinkle in the purple sky overhead, and Poison looks up to watch them dance, bright streaks punctuating the velvety backdrop of space every now and then.

_Party Poison._

Poison startles, turning to see the Girl standing over him, mismatched sneakers in the sand he’s seated on. The laces are undone, like they always are, frayed from losing their plastic seal.

“Girly?” He says, confused, flexing his fingers against the shifting dune.

_No._

Her lips move, but Poison hears it physically less than he does in his head, as if its being projected and not spoken aloud. He looks up at her face, and it’s the same as it was earlier today, bright eyes and freckles against her dark skin, a pink bandage on her cheek where she fell and scratched it on the counter that morning. Poison hesitates, but the answer is there, suddenly, like it always was and Poison just forgot for a moment.

“Are you th’ Witch?” he asks softly.

_Yes_ _,_ she answers simply. She’s brought a string out of her pocket, the same one the real Girl keeps in the chest of her overalls, and wraps around her fingers to occupy them — bright red and fuzzy from its long life. The Girl starts tangling it around her index finger, along the knuckle and trailing down to where it joins the palm.  _I appear as who you love most._

Poison looks down at their hands, folded in their lap, and wonders. “Am I dead, then?” he says hesitantly. There’s a lot he hasn’t gotten to do. That’s an understatement, actually — and he isn’t sure how they got there. They’re pretty sure they remember going to sleep, Ghoul’s spine against the curve of their back, breathing in time as he drifted off.

When he looks up again, Kobra Kid is lighting a cigarette, leaning up against a building Poison doesn’t think was there before. He confirms Poison’s suspicions, taking a drag and speaking again, still in that vaguely echoey way, inside their head.  _No, Party Poison. You are simply dreaming. It is not your time yet._

That, at least, is a little bit of a relief, and Poison allows himself just a moment to be thankful. He turns back to the Witch. “Then — ‘f you don’ mind me asking — why am I here? I don’ understand why you’d want t’ talk t’ me.”

Kobra smiles, eyes scrunching up, twisting the cigarette between his fingers. His freckles look like constellations in the dark — or maybe that’s just the Witch’s domain. He plucks the lit cig from his lips and holds it out to inspect it, like it’s something fascinating. There’s a smudge of engine grease at the angle of his jaw. He went to the Crash Track today, brought back a stack of carbons and a crate of canned peaches.  _I find you intriguing, Party Poison. Your place in your crew...their understanding of the world, your understanding, your little Electricity Bomb. You do not believe in me._

“I think I don’ really have a choice, now,” they say, and it sounds a little petulant to his own ears, arms crossing to match their legs, surrounded by shifting sands and dust.

_I do not think so._ Kobra gestures as he speaks, hands moving in familiar motions, cherry creating swirling patterns of smoke that hover longer in the air than could be classed as natural.  _This is merely a chance for me to speak with you. I will not make you sacrifice your views of this world for me._

“How does that work?” Poison says, wary. The stars are moving in a slow waltz, turning with what can be presumed to be the pace of this place’s rotation. Poison paid attention in school, even if Batt City wasn’t ever a place he could have stayed. Some of them seem to twinkle especially bright for a moment.

_You just will not have met me,_ the Witch answers. Not ‘you will not remember’. Poison tears his gaze away from the stars to see Fun Ghoul cross-legged on the ground in front of him. Ghoul smiles, scar like a bright slash of paint against his face. Is it this colorful during the daytime? The question dies on his tongue. They can’t remember what they were going to say, and it’s impossible to tell if that’s the Witch’s doing. Paint-vibrant or not, it’s his smile. Poison reaches for his hand, but he blinks and Ghoul is perched on top of the Trans Am, easy smile still in place.  _Careful, Party Poison,_ he murmurs.  _I am not your family._

Poison snatches his hand back, shoving it under his leg. “You could look a little bit less like them, then,” he says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. Now that they’ve gotten used to where they are, they’re starting to dislike the Witch’s mystique and cryptic speech. The way the Witch looks like his crewmates but speaks like no one in the Zones. It’s taunting, and Poison has never taken well to feeling undermined or underestimated.

Ghoul tilts his head, eyes sparkling fondly like they do when he thinks Poison’s done something stupid, nose scrunching a little bit. It takes effort to remember that the warmth behind it isn’t real.  _I do not think you want to see my face, Party Poison._

“I don’ like you callin’ me that,” Poison says, sneering with his face turned away. They’re not brave enough to do that to a deity’s face, even so. He tucks his knees up to his chest, folding his arms so they can rest their chin on them, looking out at where the desert stretches to the horizon. Battery City is a blurry form in the distance, shifting and warping the longer Poison stares. 

Jet Star sits down next to him, on the roof of the Diner, legs swinging over the edge.  _It is the name you chose,_ he says simply. They draw calloused fingertips over the fabric of their jeans, marked up with sharpie drawings and paint from the Girl’s bedroom walls. Poison looks too long at one of the doodles and sees the lopsided cat wink at him. He wrenches his eyes away.  _I won’t keep you for too long._ Jet smiles, like the ghost of everyone Poison hasn’t been able to save, and also like his best friend. He brushes his curls back with a casual motion Poison has seen hundreds of times.  _You are not special, you know. I do not need belief to exist. Death has always existed. It is an inevitability._

Jet’s eyes are wide, swallowing Poison up, comforting and alien all at once. Even deep within them, drowning, he can see Jet’s lashes brush down over their cheeks, lips fall open on a sigh.  _Goodbye, Party Poison. May we meet again. Or not._

Poison opens his eyes to Ghoul’s dark hair on the pillow, and moonlight weaving into the room. He blinks. Kobra’s standing by Ghoul’s side of the bed, a tall shadow with a patched blanket over his shoulders; gripping the worn reddish edges in his long fingers. He meets Poison’s gaze when they look up, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Sorry,” he says, quietly. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“‘S okay,” Poison whispers, voice gravelly. “Wasn’t asleep yet anyway. Jus’ got in bed.” He lifts the corner of the quilt he and Ghoul keep to put over their mattress during the winter months, an open invitation. “C’mere.”

Kobra moves silently to their side, squirming under the covers. Poison scoots closer to Ghoul, reaching out to pull Kobra into his side until they’re sandwiched between two warm forms, quilt tenting over all of them. 

“Jet’s with Girly,” Kobra says by way of explanation, and he doesn’t need to say more. Poison just nods against the pillow.

“‘Course. ‘S all good, Kobes. See you ‘n th’ mornin’.”

“Goodnight,” Kobra whispers, and curls in close.


End file.
